Messias
by aadarshinah
Summary: The truth cannot stay hidden forever. #17 in the Ancient!John 'verse. McShep, post-"Inferno"
1. Pars Una

_Messias_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

Iohannes has been expecting it. He's been expecting it every minute of the past two days, ever since he popped by the infirmary to ask after the Taranins they'd saved from volcanic eruption on their planet. Carson had already released most of them to their guest quarters, where they are staying until Elizabeta and their Chancellor Lycus can find a suitable planet for them to relocate to, but he'd been keeping half-a-dozen overnight for observation.

Smoke inhalation, after all, does terrible things to the lungs.

But, anyway, there had been six of them. Carson, however, had been sure that all of them would make a full recovery. All of them except for one young woman who was five months pregnant and who, for medical reason Iohannes honestly didn't understand, might lose her child because of it.

Maybe he'd done it because of 'Lantis' strange baby-fixation. Or because the young woman had been lying in the same bed he'd helped Captain Cadman to die in barely a month before. Or because he couldn't watch Carson lose another patient so soon. Or maybe...

Well, it doesn't matter _why_ he'd done it, only that Iohannes _had_ gone over to the young woman and, after making sure she was sound asleep, placed a hand over her stomach and done all that he could with his healing ability to save her child. And he'd succeeded in that - or, at least, Carson had thought he had - but he'd failed to ensure the curtains around the young woman's bed were fully closed.

Or that the girl asleep in the bed opposite had actually, in fact, been asleep.

He's been expecting this very thing ever since, but Iohannes is still surprised when she runs up to him in the mess on the afternoon of the second day and - clearly, distinctly, and with the presumptuousness of the very young - asks, "Are you an Ancestor?"

The entire mess falls silent. Even the Terrans, who know the truth, seem to be curious as to how he'll answer.

Iohannes hands his tray to Teyla, who's standing next to him in the lunch line, and kneels down in front of the girl. "What's your name?" he asks her.

"Raicheal. Raicheal Pero, Sir."

"Well, Raicheal Pero, why d'you think I'm one of the Ancestors?"

"'Cause there was the volcano, but you saved us from it by putting us on the Ship of the Ancients and taking us across the stars to the City of the Ancients."

"Lots of people helped save your planet, Raicheal. Teyla, tell her how you helped."

"_And_," the girl continues loudly, talking over whatever Teyla might've said, "the healer said that Caitria's baby was going to die, but then you placed your hand on her and there was this white light and now the healer says her baby's gonna live. None of the others did that."

"And all that means I'm an Ancestor?"

Raicheal nods. Vigorously.

"Well, Raicheal," he says, focusing all his attention on the Taranin girl and forcibly ignoring everyone else, "you're right. I am what you'd call an Ancestor. And you know what?"

"What?"

"You're the first person to figure that out in a long time. And that makes you very smart. Smarter than most adults."

Raicheal beams at him. "Does this mean I get a prize or something?'

"Yeah," Iohannes grins at her, unable to help himself. "I think we can arrange that. What d'you want?"

She screws up her face real tight, thinking, before announcing, "Can I have another one of those _cookie_ things? Mother said I could only have one, but I think that being really smart means I can have another."

Laughing now, "Okay. But just this once. Believe it or not, mothers usually know what they're talking about."

"I know: Mother is the smartest, bestest mother in the whole world."

"Good for her. Teyla, can you-?"

"Here you are, John," she says, handing him a cookie.

He takes it and hands it to Raicheal, who flashes him another brilliant smile before running off into the crowd.

-the crowd, which remains silent for a moment, but looks as if any moment it might erupt into a furry of prayers and protestations.

Iohannes climbs to his feet. "Y'know," he tells Teyla, who's favoring him with one of the most concerned looks he's ever seen from her, "I'm really not all that hungry anymore."

She tries to say something, but he's out the mess before any of the Descendants can find their voices.

* * *

"I find your reaction to this situation most curious," Hermiod admits, blinking at him in a way that suggests he's more amused by this situation than anything else. "Bishop to H4."

On the tablet between them, the black bishop slides itself across the board and captures white's last pawn.

Iohannes frowns and examines the board. "Knight to F2," he says eventually, adding the question, "Why?"

"The Asgard have often found it expedient to pose as gods among those civilizations not advanced or aware enough to understand the truth of our existence. I do not understand why it should be any different for you with the people of this galaxy... Bishop to G5."

"I think you'll find the keyword in your sentence to be _posing_. It's not sliding into a role, it's..." He trails off vaguely, wishing that they were playing with something other than digital pieces, so that he might have something to fiddle with while he searches for the right words. Eventually, "When the Asgard go to some primitive civilization and pretend to be gods, that's all you're doing: you're pretending. Sure, some of the stories that they tell about you might be adapted from things that really happened to you, but, no matter how much truth gets mixed in, it's still always just a part you're playing."

"Indeed," Hermiod agrees, adding wryly, "though I must admit that the Tau'ri of old told a tale wherein _I_ was sent on a journey to their underworld, Hel, which I find most apropos to my current situation."

"Hey, now. The Terrans aren't _that_ bad. Certainly more interesting than my people ever were."

Inclining his head, he agrees - with the caveat, "But very young."

"Eh, maybe. But you've got to admit they're learning fast."

"Precociousness isn't wisdom, but a suggestion that the child might one day be wise."

"Careful now, Hermiod. It's starting to sound like you actually _like _the Terrans."

The Asgard's eyes narrow. "Do you intend to place your move or not?"

"Oh, I dunno... Rook to B6."

"King to H5."

"That's just... Rook to E6."

"Rook to A2."

Iohannes scowls. "Next time, we're playing cards. Poker, I think. I bet you'd have a great poker face, buddy."

"Or you could simply abandon the pretense of this diversion and ask outright for my advice on this matter."

"Rook to E2," he says, his scowl sliding into an outright pout even as his piece moves to capture the one of the two remaining black pawns. "It's not like you haven't made your opinion on the matter painfully clear."

"I believe I have only expressed my surprise at your reaction, rather than any particular suggestion regarding it. Rook to A1. Check"

"Knight to D1. But you think there is nothing wrong with pretending to be one of their gods if it suits our ends."

"Indeed. But," Hermiod adds, raising a finger to forestall the protest already on his lips, "as I believe you were attempting to explain, the Asgard have only ever pretended to be gods. We have never claimed divinity in our own right. The people of this galaxy consider the Ancients - and, therefore, yourself - to be gods precisely as you are, without exception or reservation. To be rightfully acknowledged as a member of your own race is also to be considered divine, which is a wholly different matter entirely. King to G4."

"But the cat's already out of the bag - the whole mess heard me tell Raicheal I was one of their Ancestors, and odds are that anyone who wasn't there has heard about it three times over by now. Rook to B2."

Hermiod is silent for a long moment. Then, unblinkingly, "Licinus? May I ask you a question?"

Iohannes used to hate his _cognomen_. He used to hate it with the same passion Rodney seems to hate his _praenomen,_ Meredith, but, _stellis in universum,_ he's almost pleased whenever Hermiod uses it. It's ridiculous in the extreme, but it's nice to be reminded that _John Sheppard_ isn't all that he is - some of the time, at least.

Still, he raises his eyebrow before saying, "Sure. Shoot."

"Why did you heal the Taranin woman's unborn child?"

"'Cause I didn't want the kid to die. Obviously."

"And why," Hermiod continues, blinking once with painful slowness, "did you not tell the Taranins who you truly are when you first learned of the Ancient warship in their possession?"

"''Cause I didn't want it to seem like I was tricking or forcing them to hand the _linter_ over."

"But you told the truth when the child asked."

"Look," he sighs exasperatedly, "it's not like I could outright lie to her face. What are you trying to get at here?"

"If, as you say, the cat is already out of the bag, the Taranins will worship you as a god regardless of your actions or explanations. But you have been nothing but kind and selfless in your interactions with them and all the peoples of this galaxy. So, if they must worship something, should it not be someone such as yourself, who embodies all the traits of a good and principled person, who acts with integrity and honor in all things?"

Laughing darkly at this, "I think you think far too highly of me, my friend."

"And I think you have become so used to thinking poorly of yourself that you are inured to your inherent goodness."

Iohannes stops laughing. "You're delusional. You mean well, Hermiod, but you're completely and utterly delusional."

"_Or_ allowing others to acknowledge it's existence. King to F3."

He's quiet for a long while, finally moving his rook to B3 - and checking the black king - before saying, "It's _Haeresis_ to let them think I'm a god."

"It is impossible to control what others think. King to G2."

"So what?" he snorts. "I'm just supposed to let them pray to me? Treat me as a god? You _do _know what happens when my kind starts thinking of themselves as gods, right?Rook to B2."

"Tell them the truth. They are a reasonably advanced race and their knowledge of the Wraith has prepared them to accept the existence of other intelligent lifeforms more readily than had their civilization been allowed to take its natural course. But do not expect them to believe you right away. It will take time and patience on your behalf for them to rid themselves of their superstitious beliefs, as it will with all the other peoples of this galaxy. In time, they will come to understand the truth, but, until then, so long as you remember that you are an Ancient and bound by all the limitations thereof, I do not believe it will constitute your Heresy. King to G1."

Iohannes ponders this. It _sounds_ reasonable enough, but still leaves him feeling uncomfortable, like he's treading dangerously close to a line which must not be crossed. "I'd sooner let Atlantis be destroyed than allow myself to become like the _Haeretici_."

"And for that reason you will not," Hermiod says reasonably. "Your move."


	2. Pars Dua

_Messias_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

_Pars Dua_

* * *

_Once upon a time..._

* * *

"Colonel?"

* * *

_Once upon a time there was a race of people that went on a great journey through space, across the length and breadth of the universe itself. And they were called the _Altera.

* * *

"John?"

* * *

_The _Altera_ were a wretched race, who, for their sins of pride and vainglory, were cursed to wander the stars for all eternity, never to again know the succor of their own clear waters or the warmth of their own mother star. For in their youth they mistook knowledge for wisdom and violence for power, and in so doing destroyed the blue world which gave them birth._

* * *

"What's wrong with him?"

"I dunno... He _seems_ okay. Maybe it's his translation matrix?"

"Wouldn't he have still heard us?"

"We're talking about thousands of tiny machines that have been messing around with his brain chemistry since he was five years old, Elizabeth. It's not beyond the realm of possibility that they've got their fingers in every pie, so to speak."

"They put those things in him when he was _five_?"

"That's what John said."

"Who would do that to a child?"

"My bet? Janus."

"His own father?"

"I've been working on decrypting some of the notes he left behind and I gotta tell you, he's one in-law I'm glad I'm never going to have to meet."

* * *

_And for a time the _Altera _were penitent. Where once they had warred over nations and false gods, they now sought to better themselves through science and self-reflection, traveling through the stars on great ships that housed all that remained of their people, the universe's firstborn children, not trusting themselves to settle on another blue world or to learn the warmth of foreign stars. _

_And so they wandered for many thousands of years within their sea of stars, until one day they came upon a world such as they had never seen before. A blue world which had, like their own lost home, given birth to life of its own. And this world they called _Morderatus_ and its people _Morderati.

* * *

"Should we call Carson?"

"Not yet. Like I said, it's probably just something with his translation matrix. Or the fact that he's in the Control Chair. The matrices might not be able to work when he's connected to the city."

"How's your spoken Ancient?"

"Better than it was when we first got here, that's for sure. Let's see here. John? Iohannes? Licinus? _Potes audire me?_"

"_Te evidenter audire possum, Moreducus. Quid eges?_" Iohannes mumbles, both irritated at being bothered when he's so clearly busy and glad that the voices around him have finally decided to become intelligible-

No, not voices. Descendants. Terrans. Rodney and Elizabeta, the new _custodia-rector_ and _praefecta; _his _amator_ and one of his closest friends. How could he have forgotten that, even for a moment? He must be deeper in Atlantis' mainframe than he'd realized. Being a _pastor_ in a _cathedra _has always been a balancing act between man and machine working in harmony and both of them forgetting where each stopped and the other began, but he doesn't remember it as ever having been quite so easy Before.

Of course, Before he'd never spent more than seventy hours at a time in the _cathedra_, and he'd spent his long, slow journey into the future doing nothing but.

"Well that's something at least - he _can_, apparently, hear us. Even if he's being a bit snippy about it."

"I can speak Ancient too, Rodney."

"What? Oh. Yes. Sorry. Usually when he does this, it's when I'm the only one around with any clue what he's saying."

* * *

_The _Morderati_ were a young race when the _Altera_ found them, not yet sailors of stars, but mature enough to greet the _Altera_ with open arms. And the _Altera, _seeing many of the same faults in the _Morderati_ that had led to the loss of their own home, offered their newfound brothers what knowledge they had without reservation, in the hopes that it would prevent the loss of another blue world. _

_But the _Morderati_ were young and had even less wisdom than the _Altera_, and used their borrowed knowledge to destroy their blue world as the _Altera _had once destroyed their own, and themselves along with it, until the _Morderati_ were utterly lost to the universe, and the _Altera _were alone in the sea of stars once more._

* * *

"I'm not sure John has any idea what he's saying now."

"What do you mean?"

"Rodney, he just called you _Moreducus_."

"What? You're the only one who can have an Ancient name, _Elizabeta_?"

"No. It's just not what I would've expected."

"My first name's _Meredith_, okay? _Moreducus_ is the Ancient version, since apparently they didn't have one for _Rodney, _which is the name I prefer to go by, for obvious reasons. Now, if we're finished with the unpleasant and, frankly, embarrassing, personal revelations, do you want to ask John why exactly he's here and not, say, in the mess hall, explaining his whole _I am an Ancestor_ comment to the Taranins or should I?"

"_Quid facis?_" Elizabeta asks, her Terran accent so much thicker than Rodney's that it's difficult to make out even those two words. Granted, Rodeny's isn't much better, but at least he's paid enough attention to pick up on the correct pronunciation for some things.

"_Taranum __aliquid," _Iohannes enunciates slowly for their benefit, "_res edisserere __gigno,"_ beginning the slow process of unwinding his consciousness from the city's without damaging either of them in the process. He's got what he needs anyway. Atlantis can begin the even slower process of compiling the data without him.

* * *

_The _Altera_ mourned the loss of the _Morderati_ and cursed themselves for their part in their destruction, vowing to use better judgement should they ever come across another race again in their great, lifeless sea of stars. And, after many thousands of years, they found another blue world that had managed to give life to another race, and this world they called _Gaheris, _and its people _Gaheres.

_But the _Gaheres_ were an even younger race than the _Morderati_, and though the _Altera _were careful and tried to guide them to knowledge rather than merely gift it to them, the _Gaheres _too destroyed themselves and their blue world. And once again the _Altera_ are alone._

* * *

"What could he possibly be making in the Control Chair that would help explain things to the Taranins?"

"Don't look at me. I've been too busy working on the Arcturus Weapon and the ATLAS Device and now _Aurora_ and _Orion_ to give the Chair any real study," Rodney says, defensive and annoyed all at once. "I know exactly as much about it as I do about the one in Antarctica, give or take the fact that this one somehow managed to keep John in stasis 'til we got here, and that probably has more to do with John than the Chair itself. Carson was able to make the one at the outpost show a map of our solar system; maybe John's making some sort of PowerPoint presentation of his own."

"_Fere_," Iohannes says, startling them both, but he's got enough wherewithal to reactivate his translation matrix, even if output takes a little longer to come back online than input. "_Ars emisso de histora Alterorum._"

"News flash, John. Showing them a hologram isn't going to do much to dissuade them from the whole _you're a god_ thing Teyla's been working on for the last two hours, no matter what it says."

* * *

_After the loss of the _Gaheres, _the _Altera _cursed themselves doubly, for they were doubly fools for thinking they, who were still learning wisdom, could teach others. Their pride and vanity had led to the destruction of three blue worlds in their great, lifeless sea of stars, and the utter loss of two races which did not have to die. And so they vowed that when next - if ever - they found another blue world, they would not interfere, nor intercede, nor show undo interest in the race who inhabited it, nor intervene on their behalf. They would let the next race make their own choices and leave the fate of that blue world in the hands of its own children, as it should have always been. _

_Thousands of years passed. And then the _Altera_ found one last, final blue world, and this world they called _Valuanii, _as they did the race to whom it belonged. _

_And it is there the _Haeresis _began._

* * *

"Yes, well," Iohannes says, easing the _cathedra _upright, "do you have a better idea?"

Rodney scowls at him, then hits him upside the head. "Yes. You could just _talk_ to them instead of, I don't know, _disappearing _to God-knows where for hours and worrying us half to death."

Frowning himself, "I didn't disappear. I needed to talk to Hermiod. Besides, Lorne knew where I was going."

"You disappeared," Rodney repeats.

"I'm also an adult and fully capable of taking care of myself for a few hours, especially in my own city."

Both Rodney and Elizabeta look like they want to protest this, but, thankfully neither of them do. Instead Elizabeta says, "So, rather than simply explaining the situation to the Taranins, you decided to slip off and make a hologram instead?"

"Well," Iohannes says, rubbing the back of his neck as he walks around to the back of the _cathedra, _"when you put it _that_ way..."

"Really? And what way am I supposed to put it?"

He kneels down and removes one of the access panels on base of the _cathedra._ "Look, all I know is that we've been down this road before, my people. Once people start believing we're gods, things start going downhill, fast. The temptation to interfere... It's unbearable."

He can already feel the power of their conviction reaching out to him like tendrils, just waiting for him to take it. It isn't much, hardly noticeable at all, but it's there. It's there, and Iohannes knows that if it stays there long enough, he'll reach out and take it. Because that's the kind of person he is: the kind who, if given a way to save Atlantis and the people on her, he'll take it, no matter how terrible the consequences.

"John," Rodney says, placing what's probably meant to be a comforting hand on his shoulder, "I think if the others were going to punish you for _interfering _with us, they would've done so by now."

"It's not them I'm worried about."

"John," Elizabeta repeats, sounding tired and pinched and annoyed, like she knows upfront that she's not going to like the information she's asking for but wants to know it nonetheless.

He tosses her the crystal. "Watch the _ars_. That's what it's for."

Elizabeta looks down at the crystal in her hands like she doesn't know what to make of it. And maybe she doesn't. The Terrans are a young race, for all the try to pretend otherwise, and it will still be many centuries before they come close to learning all the secrets Atlantis holds.

Iohannes crosses the room and takes the crystal from her and slides it back into it's slot on the _cathedra_'s base.

"'Lantis? Mind playing the _ars_ for us?"

The lights in the _cathedra _room dim and, above the chair, an image of the home galaxy appears with it's bright central bar and two long, trailing arms, which no Alteran has seen with his own eyes in more years than most of their Descendants have numbers for. The image zooms in, closing in on an image of ancient _satores _converging from all corners of their small, known corner of the galaxy over an utterly decimated planet in the hope of figuring out how their homeworld had been destroyed. And over this comes a female voice - _Matertera_ Catalina, stolen from all the many lectures she'd given Iohannes on the subject - saying, "_Once upon a time..."_

* * *

**a/n: **This has been _killer_ to write. I'm not even entirely happy with the way it turned out now, but, god, I'm just glad this part's done with. Hopefully it works. Also, the Latin/Alteran in this chapie is translated in-text, but if you've any questions on it feel free to ask. As well, the three planets/races mentioned in the chappie - the _Morderati_, the _Gaheres_, and the _Valuanii_ - get their names from the Latin versions from three famous brothers from Arthurian legend: Modred, Gareth, and Gawain, who in legend are either the daughters of Arthur's half-sister Morgause or Morgan le Fey. Obviously this isn't the case in _Stargate_, but I liked the call-back.


	3. Pars Tria

_Messias_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

_Pars Tria_

* * *

"You look like you're giving serious thought to dying where you sit," Carson says with the cruel, hateful cheeriness of the well-rested, sliding his tray into the spot directly across from Iohannes at the table.

Iohannes hunches further over his tea, not so much drinking it (he doesn't think his stomach would be able to take even that much at the moment) as inhaling its vapors. "You mean I don't look like I've already died?" he groans, rubbing his temples. "I must be getting better than."

"I hate to break it to you, but things like that are nae supposed to be considered _improvements_."

"Welcome to my life."

"How much did you have to drink last night, lad?"

Iohannes opens one bleary eye and stares unsteadily across the table at his nephew. "Would you believe me if I said one?"

"Only if by _one _you mean a _fifth of some really cheap tequila_."

"It would take a lot more than a fifth of anything to get me drunk," Iohannes says, stealing himself and taking a mouthful of tea. It's lukewarm at best and more overbrewed than even he usually drinks it, but he's not getting up to get a fresh cup, he's just not. "And it was half-a-bottle of that weak stuff the Marines keep in their ready room that they think I don't know about."

Carson shakes his head like he's disappointed for some reason, though whether at him or the Marines, Iohannes can't say. "I know our Earth medicine must seem hopelessly primitive to you, but you don't exactly need a medical degree to tell you've got a hangover the size of Yorkshire."

He sets his mug back on the table and wraps both his hands around the base and _concentrates, _adding idly,"I take it that's big."

"We really need to work on your world history, Colonel. There's more to Earth than just Canada and the United States."

"Eh," Iohannes says indifferently, focus mostly on his tea. After a moment more, it starts to boil, prompting Carson to say-

"That's a nice party trick."

"_That_ is the result of nine hours of meditation - which is, by the way, the reason I needed that half-a-drink." He shudders at the memory. "I should've just raided Doctor Z's distillery, but 'Lantis said that he and Lorne spent the night there, and I didn't want to walk in on anything that would cause me to have to scour my eyes out of their sockets."

Carson chokes on his coffee. "You mean Evan and Radek..." he makes a vague hand motion that Iohannes takes to mean-

"Are having sex? I dunno, but watching them dance around each other is enough to give me a headache, and I really, _really_ don't need to give the one I have now any more fuel." He takes another sip of tea, which is now utterly scalding and almost unpalatably bitter, and goes back to rubbing his temples.

"I was under the impression that meditation was supposed to be relaxing. Help one get in tune with one's inner self and all that."

Frowning, "I've always found it a trying experience."

"Then why'd you do it?"

He scowls into a his tea and almost misses Rodney slide his own tray into the empty spot next to him, saying, "'Lantis made him."

Iohannes practically hears Carson blink. "The city made him meditate?"

"Yeah," Rodney says. "She seems to think that the others are less likely to punish John if he starts behaving more like a proper Ancient. At least," he adds after unsuccessfully trying to steal Iohannes' tea and replace it with a plate of something far too solid and greasy for him to even think about eating, "that's the gist I got from the side of the argument I could hear."

"She's a sadistic, overprotective _futatrix_," Iohannes says, patting the table absentmindedly. When she brightens the lights immediately overhead, he adds, "Well, you are."

/Forgive us for not wanting you be forcibly Ascended, or sent to some backwater planet with all your memories erased, or-/

"Yes, yes," he agrees. "But you made Rory _cry_, and that's not something I can forgive all that easily."

"Yes, thank you for mentioning that, I've only spent the past few hours trying to block that memory."

"Lucky you." Iohannes thinks he's never going to be able to scrub that memory from his brain. Particularly not when her sobs had been interspersed with the occasional, choked, /But you _can't _go a-way, _Pa-ter._/

The overhead lighting penitently returns to normal levels.

Carson gets that worried look that normally proceeds several uncomfortable and unnecessarily invasive medical tests, "I'm confused. How does Atlantis wanting you to meditate lead to you looking like a sailor after shore leave?"

"'Cause," Iohannes says, gesturing with his mug, "it's never _just_ meditation. It's always other things too."

* * *

_The _Valuanii _were a young race, younger than the _Morderati, _younger than even the _Gaheres, _and the _Altera_ vowed that this time they would not allow their pride and vainglory to destroy another blue world which had managed to create life, no matter how young that life was. They would watch, they vowed, but they would not interfere. They would not even let the _Valuanii_ know they watched. They would let the blue world and the life on it develop as they would, without their dangerous influence._

_But not all the _Altera_ could do this. They saw the _Valuanii_ making the same mistakes they had made and could not sit idly by, watching. And so they came to the _Valuanii _in secret and guided them down better, less destructive paths. And the _Valuanii_, being young and knowing no better, called these secret guardians gods. _

* * *

"I think you should send the fifth ZPM to Terra."

"What?" Elizabeta asks, looking up at him with an utterly bewildered expression. Between Atlantis and Terra, they've been able to scrounge together five ZPMs - which now, thanks to the ATLAS device, are fully charged - which adds up to two apiece for Atlantis and the SGC, with the last being demanded with equal furor by both parties:

'Lantis needs it because she needs three ZPMS, runs best on three working in concert. It's simple fact.

The Terrans want it because they're greedy and young and think that because they've accomplished so much in nine years they can take on the universe. Which means they want one for their _porta_, to dial Pegasus; one for the _statio_ beneath their southern pole, to defend their planet from the myriad enemies they've made themselves in that short time; and one for _Odyssey_, to take the fight to the _Haeretici_.

"I think-"

"No, I heard that much. I just don't understand it. You've been arguing since the beginning that we be allowed to keep the fifth ZPM. Why the sudden change of heart?"

Iohannes sinks into one of the chairs across from her desk and adopts as casual a posture as possible. He's not entirely sure he succeeds, but he _knows_ his voice is utterly nonchalant when he says, "They need it more than we do."

"That's not what you were saying last week."

"Well, last week we didn't know what the Wraith were going to do with Michael's intel, if anything. Now we know that all they're going to do is sent one hive ship our way to check things out, and we don't need three ZPMs to take care of a single hive."

"As admirable as your trust in the city's defenses is, John, we both know that the fifth ZPM would be wasted at the SGC, so what's this really about?"

"What makes you think it's about anything other than wanting my nieces and nephews not to be killed by the _Haeretici_?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Elizabeta gives him a look that lets him know, quite clearly and distinctly, that she's not buying it. "Maybe because you've been in a strop ever since the Taranins found out about your being an Ancient?"

"Alteran."

"Is now really the time to be arguing semantics?"

"There's always time to argue semantics."

"And as happy as I'd be to do so with you at any other time, that doesn't change the fact that you've been acting strange for the past two days, or that you look like you went ten rounds with a bottle of vodka and lost."

"What, this?" Iohannes gives her a tired smile. "This is nothing."

"If you've had hangovers worse than this, I genuinely worry about the state of your liver."

"Y'know, I find it odd that I keep having to explain this, but I'm _not actually hungover_."

"Well, you certainly look like it."

There are eighty things he could say to that off the top of his head. The one he goes with is, "Look, I appreciate the concern and all, but I'm fine. I really am. This is just the aftereffects of a fight with Atlantis, followed by some deeply unsettling meditation. Give me a couple hours and some tea and I'll be as right as rain."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Iohannes shrugs.

Elizabeta sighs.

They sit in silence for what feels like ages, but can't even be two minutes. At the end of it, he slouches down low in his chair and leans his head back far enough to rest on the seat-back. "I had a vision," he tells the ceiling tonelessly, though 'Lantis, of course, already knows all about it. And done a rousing round of _I told you so_s before breakfast that had done absolutely nothing for his headache.

"A vision," Elizabeta repeats.

"While I was meditating. I don't think it's mine - my talents never leaned in that direction when I was still foolish enough to be actively working towards Ascension, but anything's possible."

It's almost beyond imagination to think that enough of the others actually came to the realization that the _Haeretici _are an actual threat - his people may be a cowardly race, but they are also a proud one. And not just a threat to their Descendants, but to their own existence. But even they have to realize that, when the war is over and every person left alive in Avalon is praying to the _Haeretici_, feeding their need to be worshiped, their long lost cousins would finally be strong enough to destroy them.

Even they have to see helping the Terrans is a matter of survival, pure and simple.

"John..."

Then again, it's almost beyond imagination to think he could be sitting here in the future, the last of his kind, with nothing to commend him to the position he now occupies rather than luck and a desire not to see Atlantis fall.

"The _Haeretici _are making an Abomination."

"An-"

"Abomination," Iohannes says, lifting his head just enough to give her a bitter smile. "Melodramatic, I know." He lets his head fall back. "It's a cultural flaw, the whole Alteran flair for the dramatic."

Dryly, "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"That's just plain hurtful."

"You're the one that brought it up."

"I'm not the one being melodramatic here. That's the actual term, Abomination. Basically it means an Ascended being who's retaken human form but kept all of the knowledge they gained. Kinda like the Velonan _exsul_ the SGC had to deal with a couple months back, the one with with the crush on Colonel Carter."

"Orlin?"

"Yeah, that one. And probably Moros Lal too - the guy your lot call _Merlin, _though how he managed to get from _law abiding citizen of the millennia _to someone like, well, me, is a story I'd love to hear sometime. Y'know, provided it's not during a dressing down on a higher plane of existence by some some glowing balls of white light before they decide how best to punish me. Unless," he says, sitting up a little and cocking his head to the side, trying to recall those lost three minutes, "they've already done that. In which case I'd like to remember it the next time."

Elizabeta looks vaguely contemplative. "I don't think you give the others enough credit."

"And you give them too much."

"Maybe," she admits, looking down briefly and fiddling with her pen. "But your people built Atlantis and the Stargates, and seeded human life in at least two galaxies. They may not be gods, but I've gotta trust they know what they're doing."

"You do that. And, while you're at it, send the ZPMs to Terra. Three of them."

"What about us, Colonel? You've said yourself that the city works best with three ZPMs and there's a hive ship on the way right now. It'll be here in sixteen days. God alone knows how many are preparing to follow in it's wake. Two ZPMs, _Daedalus_, and a pair of barely operational Ancient warships might get us pretty far, but your people had a lot better and a lot more and still lost the war. If this comes down to a fight, I want us to have the best chance possible - and not throw our chances away because of your hangups with the Ori."

"How many people d'you think it'd take to take me down if I ever took up _Haeresis_?"

"What?" Elizabeta asked, clearly puzzled by the _non sequitur_ but still very much vexed by the whole conversation. Her lips are pursed and her eyes narrowed in the most unflattering way, but she's willing, at least, to hear him out.

"If I ever decided to go down that route," Iohannes repeats, straitening in his chair, "how many people d'you think it would take to bring me down? A couple SG teams? All the military personnel on this city? At the SGC's disposal? 'Cause whatever you think, I promise you, it won't be enough.

"Once the Taranin's are resettled on their new homeworld, word about me being one of their Ancestors is going to spread through the galaxy like wildfire. Within six months, every Descendant in Pegasus is going to know what I am and, with that kind of faith at my disposal, I doubt I'd have any problems making a nice lodgment in Avalon, starting with Terra. _If_ I somehow managed to delude myself into thinking I'm a god. And that's just me, as I am, like seventy-eight percent of the way to Ascension. Think about what a _Haeretici_ returned to human form with all the knowledge and power of an Ascended being at her disposal could do, to say nothing of the armies and _lintres _that she'd certainly bring with her.

"Even without an Abomination leading them, the _Haeretici_ are still Alterans and, even if they've not managed to make a single technological advancement since my people broke off from theirs, for all intents and purposes, trying to fight them once they reach your galaxy would be like trying to wage war on actual gods. The only way to beat them is to prevent them from getting a foothold in Avalon in the first place, and your lot can't do that as you are now. Giving the SGC the fifth ZPM opens up possibilities for them that might just save your galaxy."

Elizabeta shakes her head once, sharply, reflexively. "And what about us, John? What about the Wraith?"

"The Wraith are terrifying," he says honestly. "They might very well be the worst thing my people ever created. But I'd rather spend another ten thousand years fighting them than let the _Haeretici_ get anywhere near Terra."

She leans back in her chair, as if hit with a moment of sudden clarity. "Because Earth is the gateway to Atlantis."

Iohannes nods slightly. "That's one of the reasons."

"You know, John, you really take this whole _uncle_ thing a little too seriously."

"You're family," he says, standing. "And even if you weren't, the _Haeretici_ still ought to be stopped."

* * *

_But the _Altera_ were not gods, and so were tempted by the things that tempt all people as prideful and vainglorious as they. So it it was that when the _Valuanii_'s secret guardians learned that their charges worshiped them as they might the _Altera_'s own long forgotten gods, they allowed the practice to continue. And when these false gods discovered that each soul converted to their self-serving religion gave them strength to rival even the most powerful amongst them, they added avarice and envy to their great list of sins and sought to convert more._

_The faith of one planet, however, could never give them enough power, not once their appetites for it had been whetted. And so the _Valuanii_'s secret guardians, the believers of the great _Haeresis _that men could be gods, devised a plan. The _Altera_'s science had come far since the destruction of their blue world and their ceaseless journey across their lifeless sea of stars had become wearisome for even those many generations born to it. And so the _Haeretici_ plotted in whisper and rumor that the _Altera_ should create life of their own to fill the many lifeless worlds of the many lifeless stars in the endless sea that surrounded them, and that they should create this life in their own image, to study how they themselves evolved and changed._

_And this is how the first Descendants came to be._

* * *

The Taranins are completely resettled onto their new homeworld three days later. Their new home known as M6T-811 in the Terran's bizarre system of planetary nomenclature and the fourth planet of the Monemute system in his people's database, but the Taranins rename it Pryderi. Chancellor Lycus tells them it is the name of the great hero from their oldest tales, the kind that was never written down until recently, and that according to tradition he was the such of such-and-such god and-

-and, well, frankly, Iohannes stops listening after that point, because he's fairly certain it's supposed to be an allusion to him, and it's a lot easier to pretend the whole conversation simply isn't happening than it is to restrain the urge to shoot something. Or someone.

The next day they dial Terra, to tell the folks at the SGC about the _linter_ they recovered from Taranis and the lone hive that would reach Lantean space in twelve days, to say nothing of continuing the discussion about how best to divvy up the ZPMs. Elizabeta's still prepared to fight for the fifth, regardless of anything Iohannes might have to say on the matter, right up until the moment they tell her about _Prometheus_ and how it was destroyed above Tegalus by a _Haeretici_ weapon four days ago.

After that, well, even Rodney's protests as to why Atlantis should keep the fifth are half-hearted at best.

* * *

**a/n:** So... the first half of this just _flowed_, like 2k in one sitting, and then the last bit was just... murder. Stupid people who wanted to tour the house in the middle of my writing streak. Anyway, for those of you who care, this takes place on 9-13 May according to my timeline. Which brings us concurent with "Ethon" in SG1, which is like 1/4th a season off, but I had to adjust the timelines to fit based off of everything in "Somniati."  
Anyway, translations include: _satitio_, or _outpost, _and _exsul_, or _exile._ Velona is the planet Orlin came from. Monemute is the Latin version of _Monmuth_,which is a shout out to Geoffrey of Monmuth, who wrote most of the source material for Arthurian legend. And Pryderi is a Welsh hero who was the son of Rhiannon. Feel free to call me out on anything else I missed.


End file.
